On Oct. 15, which is this Sunday, Hungarian lumber-psych instrumentalists Band in the Pit will release their new album, the four-song Goda, through Psychedelic Source and Para Hobo Records. Why the odd-day release? Maybe just to remind us that these things are completely arbitrary. Maybe they had the day free and a regular Friday appointment. In any case, I assure you the date is not nearly important enough to warrant the four sentences I’ve now dedicated to it. If you want to skip ahead to the player and stream it,

The album runs four songs and three stages, by which I mean that the tracklisting — “Phalaris” (9:48), “Mantle” (11:16), “Goda” (6:38) and “Relight” (5:09) — is patterned through the first two longer pieces such that the shorter title-track and closer act like the reinforcement hypnotic suggestion to make sure you stay entranced. Recorded in 2021, Goda follows 2019’s two-song LP, Durée, and is their sixth full-length overall in the last decade-plus, the trio of guitarist Szabolcs Késmárky, bassist Vilmos Schneider and drummer Norman Prókai continuing to work with László Válik on the mix/master in Budapest and seeming to reside somewhere in terms of method between j-a-m heavy jamming and heavier-toned riffing.

The key is repetition. For as steady in their delivery and patient as they are nestling into their parts and residing there, Band in the Pit begin Goda already in progress — a crash into a new measure, as though the jam was already underway and you just teleported into the studio where it’s being recorded, presumably live (note: I actually don’t know how it was done, but listening, it’s hard to imagine another way). “Phalaris” evolves gradually over its nearly-10 minutes, has space for a right-on-fuzz guitar solo, and so on, but keeps its central rhythm consistent throughout. This means that even as the three-piece pass the seven-minute mark and the stately low end is met by a current of more scorching effects noise, the listener remains encased within the underlying groove. The wash? It’s just something that happens out there somewhere. It comes and goes and the noise is eventually the last thing to go as the song draws down, but it’s not that it was a contest and noise won over march. That march will own the day.

On a first listen, one new to the band — as I have no qualms admitting I am — might be a few minutes into “Mantle” before understanding what’s going on here. Like some of Earth‘s interpretations of drone, Band in the Pit build mantras from nod. Clear in its strum, Késmárky‘s guitar comes to the forefront of the mix and seems to lead the parade with Schneider and Prókai on board. At its root, it might be a heavy stoner riff not out of place on a record rife with Sleep worship, but as one might in a rehearsal space introducing a riff to a band and subsequently feeling out where it goes, “Mantle” suitably taps into the jam beneath what in many other circumstances becomes a part of a structured song. This willfully repetitive take and the raw character of the material overall become defining features, and between “Phalaris” and “Mantle,” more than half of Goda‘s 32-minute runtime is accounted for. As substance goes, it is not misplaced or misused.

Chemistry in the songs should be taken as a given. Band in the Pit probably wouldn’t exist at this point, never mind this record, if they didn’t enjoy being in the room together, and that comes through as they move deeper into the second half of “Mantle” and the procession starts to sort of playfully unravel, noise entering ahead of a fade that brings the crash-in of “Goda” to mirror that of “Phalaris” earlier. “Goda” is the start of side B and it hammers through a heavier riff than either of side A’s cuts boasted, departing at about two and a half minutes in for a ’90s noise howl of a brief solo before realigning around crashes. And I’m not sure if it’s actually something other than the guitar, bass or drums being beaten on, or maybe an echo or effect, but there’s an almost metallic ting as they circle around that same part.

There’s a slight but notable change after about four minutes into “Goda” where the strum opens a bit while the bass and drums, again, hold the foundation, and I swear to you that if they had someone screaming obscurities overtop about the Gemenc Forest would be some of the best progressive black metal you’d hear in 2023. As it stands, they ride the movement to a sudden stop and a dirtier guitar tone begins “Relight,” soon smoothly joined by the rhythm section. The spell of “Goda” is hardly broken by the closer, and Band in the Pit remain true to their purpose — that is, they find where they want to be and stay there in terms of a central chug — before shifting into weightier, noisier duggery to finish. By the time they’re done, they’re quiet again, capping with a quiet drone of residual noise, but they balance that moment of whole-album revelry with the calming affect of their repetitions.

If you can move your neck to nod, you can get down. Band in the Pit aren’t so much laying out a challenge with Goda as inviting the listener to dig in alongside the band. Because the hypnosis cast in “Phalaris” no doubt works both ways; the driver is also on board, if you get what I’m saying. That going-together sensibility further bolsters the immersive aspects of Goda, but if you find yourself feeling lost in listening, rest assured that the ground is still there under your feet and the path you and they are on remains ahead of you.

Please enjoy:

Vinyl preorder: https://psychedelicsourcerecords.bandcamp.com/album/goda

As heavy mountains sing.

Important to support the band directly at bandinthepit.bandcamp.com/album/goda-2 (they do merch combo, and lower prices)

Music written and performed by Band In The Pit.
Recorded in 2021 at L.V. Studio – Budapest – H.
Released in 2023 by Psychedelic Source Records and Para Hobo Records.

Releases October 15, 2023.

Mix and master – László Válik
Original artwork – Anna Kiss
Editing – Viktor Juhász-D

Drums – Norman Prókai
Guitar – Szabolcs Késmárky
Bass – Vilmos Schneider

Band in the Pit, Live at SzimplaRocks

Band in the Pit on Facebook

Band in the Pit on Bandcamp

Psychedelic Source Records on Facebook

Psychedelic Source Records on Bandcamp

Para Hobo Records on Facebook

Para Hobo Records on Instagram

Para Hobo Records on Bandcamp

Sonic escapism can take any number of shapes or any number of non-shapes, and Lemurian Folk Songs do likewise. The first thing one hears on the nine-minute opener “Highself Roadhouse” is a chant-like vocal from singer/keyboardist Benus Krisztina that’s just two words: “Eternal circle.” Amid echo and reverb spaciousness comes a tonal warmth that extends from Ambrus Bence‘s guitar and newcomer Nemesházi Attila‘s bass to Baumgartner István‘s snare drums, adding to a fluid mix of fuzz and psychedelic vibing that becomes the running theme throughout the four-song/38-minute long-player, Ima. The title of the album is properly written with a kind of pyramid symbol next to the word (I can never get those things to show up in text; this site runs on a very old framework), but it would seem to tie into the pyramid-minded artwork, conjuring visions of ancient astronaut weirdness and all sorts of amalgamated who-knows-what.

And fair enough, since the Para Hobo Records-released album operates in a not completely dissimilar manner, with each song finding its own way around that central warmth as the Budapest-based four-piece steer its direction through airy post-whatnot or psychedelic boogie in second track “Füst,” indeed a bit of folk serenity in the penultimate “Pillanat,” and, on the 15:42 closer “Melusina III,” a deluxe, nod-ready fuzzed-out jam that resolves itself in a wash of noise and residual effects, seeming to leave nothing behind as the guitar line drifts out and leaves the bass and drums to hold out the central rhythm until that too dissipates, leaving just the lasers-in-space of guitar, which also fades out over the final minute-plus. That’s an as-reasonable-as-anything ending for a record like Ima — which is the band’s second behind 2017’s Maro and their 2016 debut EP, Nommo, from before Krisztina joined — but of course the focus such as it is is much more centered around the journey to get there rather than what happens at the end. That’s the nature of an offering such as this, but it’s a form in which Lemurian Folk Songs thrive, finding a home for themselves among a host of otherworldly sensibilities.

They would seem to be aware of such a trajectory, as well. Even the band’s moniker refers to some vision of a lost world, with Lemuria having been a once-postulated sunken continent that united India, Madagascar and Australia via what’s now the Indian Ocean. Obviously it would’ve been a sizable continent, but it was theorized because of similarities primate fossils in those places — thus Lemuria from “lemur.” Some Tamil writers adopted Lemuria as an interpretation of their own legendary sunken continent, Kumari Kandam (thanks Wikipedia), and others have taken on the idea of a lost civilization and so on. Lemurian Folk Songs, then, would be what these mythical people in this forgotten culture sang, whoever and whenever they were. So it is that the ethereal is manifest throughout Ima, and though the moniker is more a framework than a conceptual lens — that is, I don’t think they’re actually trying to write a lost culture’s folk music so much as they’re trying to write quality heavy psychedelia; a goal they achieve and then some, by the way — the feeling of being in another place is nonetheless crucial to the affect of the material.

From those initial chants, “Highself Roadhouse” sets itself out across a sonic sprawl that’s immersive and rife with intertwining energies, hypnotic in its repetitions but with enough change throughout to stave off being redundant. The trajectory is outward, but “Highself Roadhouse” is less about space than spirit, and as one can’t see a song title containing the word “roadhouse” without thinking of The Doors, it’s worth noting that Krisztina does work a bit of Jim Morrison swagger into her cadence on the opener. That’s all the more fitting as Ima shifts gears into “Füst,” which is faster and more physical in its movement, Bence showcasing choice lead work as Attila‘s bass tone continues to be a highlight unto itself. I am an eternal sucker for righteous low-end warmth, but even so, the work done here in anchoring the proceedings in complementing István in the rhythm section as well as the Bence‘s guitar is the kind that only makes a good album or band that much better.

“Füst” smooths and chills out effectively over its 8:25 run, and that makes the transition into the shorter “Pillanat” that much more of a highlight unto itself. The line between “Highself Roadhouse” and “Füst” was drawn with a quiet guitar and silence before the boogie riff started, but with “Füst” and “Pillanat” it’s more direct, an echoing vocal ending the second track shortly before the third picks up with its soft and melodic line. And “Pillanat” may be the briefest cut on Ima at just over five minutes, but it’s a beautifully meditative moment that does much to enrich the record as a whole in vibe, mood and aesthetic, showcasing a patience and broader dynamic than Lemurian Folk Songs have yet shown while also acting as a setup for “Melusaina III,” the rolling fuzz of which hits immediately and in hell-yes fashion, with Bence wasting no time in establishing the central riff as effects come to swirl around it, the drums take a laid back push and the bass, as ever, thickens the proceedings engagingly, given further dimension to the space the tones occupy.

It’s also Attila‘s bass that holds to the central figure as Bence‘s guitar goes wandering in the closer’s midsection, eventually working its way back to the roll and out again as Krisztina‘s keys fill out the melody. From there, there’s just about no coming back and Lemurian Folk Songs know it. But “coming back” was seemingly never in the plans anyway, and their already-noted departure-via-noise gives a last-minute flourish of experimentalism that comes across as underscoring the live feel of the performances preceding. I don’t know if they recorded live or not, but there’s a vitality to the work throughout Ima that very much suits Lemurian Folk Songs, and with the range of their songcraft and the meld of spontaneity and structure they bring to the offering, the converted among heavy psych heads should be well on board for the voyage as they present it. A sleeper, maybe, but not to be missed, with each track doing something to enhance the entirety in such a way as to make it all the more resonant by the time it’s done.

Lemurian Folk Songs, Ima (2019)

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Para Hobo Records on Facebook

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Para Hobo Records on Bandcamp